


Darling, denial is my middle name

by teabreathingdragon



Category: Mamamoo
Genre: F/F, moonsun, wheebyul wheesa hanimoon hwabyul if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7905109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teabreathingdragon/pseuds/teabreathingdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moon Byulyi. Arrogant. Irresponsible. Cute. Annoying. </p><p>You really don’t like her. </p><p> </p><p>Or five times Solar almost loses Moonbyul and one time she does.</p><p>Set in the real world. Moonsun. Second person limited, Yongsun POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impression

**Author's Note:**

> if you signed up for angst you MIGHT not be at the right place. This is a WIP.  
> follow me on twitter for updates i'm @flopbyul <3

Everyone tells you that you look younger than your age. You like that. It’s a nice way to build your self-esteem and it definitely has its perks. A youthful face endears you to people. It makes _aegyo_ easier. It gets people staring. There’s hardly a downside to having a young face in the industry you’re working in. Sure, sometimes _hoobae_ s will mistake you for their juniors but it rarely bothers you. You smile and gently correct them and they trip over themselves apologizing.

And then there’s Moon Byulyi.

She’s a year younger than you, all boyish charm and nose-crinkled grins, walking around in her baggy sweater and reversed ball cap like she owns the place. Cute and charismatic enough to charm anyone’s pants off.

Not yours, though. She annoys the hell out of you.

The first time she went to training, she didn’t bring heels when it should have been common sense to do so. _Swag but no sense of responsibility_ , you think. You lent her your spare because you’re a well-prepared trainee and a good person; just because you think she’s irresponsible doesn’t mean you’d sabotage her.

When she was asked who lent her shoes, she pointed at you and addressed you like you were peers. You put on a kind smile and corrected her.

And then she laughed. 

_“Oh my gosh, really? You look 12!”_

_Wow, you're welcome. S_ he may have thrown in something resembling an apology in there, but it was definitely drowned out by the howling laughter. Your protest dies on your lips when she follows up with “ _Out of ten_.” And fucking winks. 

_What. the. actual. fuck._

Words fail you. You feel your face grow hot so you hurriedly leave her alone. You can feel her smirking at you from across the room. _The nerve_.

You had lent her your shoes out of the kindness of your heart and she didn’t even have the basic decency to  thank you properly or treat you with respect. _Rude_.

 

* * *

 

For the after-session photo, the photographer tells you to be friendly. She’s the closest person and you steel your guts for what you’re about to do. _You’re a good trainee, Yongsun. You follow instructions. You’ll probably need to do things like this when you debut, anyway._ You hug her from the back. She looks at you weirdly and before she fucking _smirks_ and leans her head against yours. You ignore the fluttering in your stomach and keep your eyes firmly locked on the camera.

You hope the fact that you’re gritting your teeth doesn’t show on the picture.

Moon Byulyi. Arrogant. Irresponsible. Cute. Annoying.

You really don’t like her.


	2. Must Confess

Byul is your best friend. It’s ridiculous because you used to hate her guts and now you can’t imagine being on stage without her. You can’t imagine your apartment without her randomly popping up at the oddest hours. You can’t imagine having to eat pickles alone because the maknaes wouldn’t like them. You can’t imagine not being the constant target of her grease. You can’t imagine being without her, and you certainly didn’t imagine _this_.

* * *

 

You had four schedules today, two of them individual.  It’s 2 in the morning; the other members had been free for at least five hours before you arrived at your apartment. You just want to sleep, but Byul texted you asking if she can come over.

 “ _Byul it’s 2 in the morning.”_

She sends a picture of her pouting. You note the flush in her cheeks and glassiness in her eyes. You sigh and send another text.

_“Use your key.”_

You don’t know what’s happening but you know she doesn’t drink alone unless there’s something going on. She needs you.

 

When you get out of the shower she’s leaning against the foot of your couch, hugging her knees and resting her head on them. She looks small and tired and your heart aches for her. She brightens up immediately when she sees you.

You sit beside her and mimic her position. She leans her head on your shoulder and you sit quietly waiting for her to explain. You’re not sure how long the two of you stayed like that, but it must have been a while because you wake up to her lifting your head from resting on hers. She moves from her position to sit in front of you. She stares at you like she’s trying to figure out a complicated riddle, or like she’s trying to melt you.

You meet her gaze and attempt to channel her usual sturdiness. _Byul is always calm. Something big must have happened for her to be like this_.

And then her expression changes again. She looks at the ground, looking like how she did right before you did the part switch. Nervous. Unsteady. _Like if she looks at the ground long enough she could compel it to swallow her._

You wish she would talk already because her nervousness is making you nervous too. She takes a deep breath right before her hands go to your cheeks. You instinctively close your eyes, waiting for her to squish your cheeks and say _“Thank you for bearing with me, yeba._ ”

You weren’t expecting her to kiss you.

 _What?_ Your eyes shoot open. You stare at her. You can feel your palms sweating and hear your pulse in your ears. She’s staring at you again, looking completely sober with her hands still on your cheeks.

_“I love you, Yongsun.”_

You keep staring at her, dazed and confused and completely lost. You don’t understand what just happened. You don’t understand what’s happening.

Byul screws her eyes shut and leaves.

You don’t move. You’re not even sure you breathe.


	3. It's Byul's Fault

During warm-up the next day, Byul apologizes and asks you to forget about what happened. She was drunk and she didn’t mean it. You hug her tight saying, “Aigoo, you shouldn’t be getting drunk on workdays, Byul.” You muss her hair before continuing. “Forget that what happened?”

Byul doesn’t get a chance to respond because Wheein suddenly jumps on her back. Byul recovers quickly, securing Wheein’s arms around her shoulders before spinning her around. You step back to avoid the hurricane of limbs. Wheein squeals, begging for her to stop but Byul spins faster and faster until they collapse in a tangle of limbs. Hyejin shouts “Dogpile!” and jumps on top of the two. Their laughter echoes in the studio. You draw their attention by clapping your hands and tell them to get ready for practice. Hyejin calls you a buzzkill.

After practice, you hear Wheein ask Byul why her eyes were swollen.

* * *

Weeks after, Byul is back to her usual self, hugging you and saying cheesy things until you’re too flustered to retaliate. She teases that it’s getting easier. “Unnie, you’re not even trying anymore.”

She’s wrong because you are trying. And it’s not your fault that every time she touches you, you’re transported to that night. To the feeling of her fingers against your cheeks, and the softness of her lips against yours. To her eyes staring at you like you held the secrets of the universe, echoes of “I love you” playing in your mind. Months pass and you hate that she can act like nothing ever happened while every detail of that night is vivid in your memory.

This is her fault. Why does it seem like you’re the only one suffering?

The company discusses individual variety appearances. Talk of you going on We Got Married emerges and she doesn’t even bat an eye. She doesn’t tease you or bring up how much you both hate the show. All she does is cheer you on. It irks you.

And then she starts being sociable. She’s always on a drive with Wheein, or eating with Hyejin, or on the phone with Hani. Sometimes she even talks to Minhyuk. You tell yourself that it’s because you’re busier now, but you can’t stop thinking that that used to be you.

* * *

Fanservice has always been easy for your group. Your fans are pleasant, and the four of you flirt with each other as much as you breathe anyway. It’s never been a problem, but as usual, Byul has a nasty habit of making easy things difficult for you.

You finish performing at some university’s festival. It’s your last schedule for the day so the manager lets you take your time walking back to the van. The maknaes walk ahead of you. Byul drapes her arm around your shoulders and you weave your fingers between hers. Cheers erupt from the fans waiting in the parking lot the moment they see Wheein and Hyejin. The cheers get louder when they see the two of you.

Byul removes her arm from around you and bows with exaggerated flourish. “After you, m’lady.” You protest the loss of contact, but you get cut off by the letters, plushies, and bouquets being thrust into your hands. You thank your fans, throwing in a few jokes here and there. You really are lucky to have such kind fans.

You’re shaking hands with the last moomoo when a wave of squealing from behind you draws your attention. Byul is chatting with the fans, forearms resting casually against the barrier. The girl she’s talking to is pretty, and the way she blushes when Byul winks at her makes her infinitely cuter. The wrapping on the bouquet crinkles as your grip around it tightens. You walk towards the van, surprising the kids when you overtake them.

Hyejin complains when she sees you riding shotgun. You stick your tongue out at her and tell her that she should have been faster. She whines, but she takes the seat beside Byul’s.

You watch Byul through the rearview mirror. When your eyes meet, you immediately avert your gaze and recline your seat.

You don’t get much sleep during that car ride.

* * *

She calls you that night, asking if you’re okay. You’re not, and you want to tell her. You want to tell her to come over and bring ice cream or beer, or both. You want to tell her that you never forgot and that you’re tired of pretending that you can. You want to tell her that you’re feeling something that you don’t understand and it’s all her fault and that you’re just so fucking scared.

But you don’t. You tell her that you’re fine. “Just tired.”

Byul makes a sound that makes you think she doesn’t really believe you, but she doesn’t push. She never does.

“Well, carrying two hearts around all the time must be exhausting,” she quips, and you groan because you should have known she was going to say something greasy, “should I take mine back?”

You don’t get much sleep that night either.


	4. The Anvil Floats a Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yongsun figures it out. ish.

God, it doesn't make sense.

Byul has been your best friend since the four of you started training as a group. Still is, two years after debut. So this nervousness around her,  this flutter in your stomach, this feeling deep inside your chest, none of these make sense. Not when you know her like the back of your hand.

When you know that whenever the members gang up on you, she's the ringleader.

That when interviews scare her she grabs your hand and squeezes until you lose sensation in your fingers.

That she gets stinky after practice.

That she’s too annoying. Too greasy. Too… _female_.

 

And yet.

 

And yet you feel like this. Whatever _this_ is.

You’ve never really thought about it. Never had to because well, it’s simply… not possible. _You’re not ---_

“...ssi. Solar-ssi!”

Your musings are interrupted by the make-up artist waving her hands in front of your face. “Solar-ssi, I said you were ready. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You remember where you are and immediately vacate the chair, frantically apologizing and assuring the makeup artist that you’re fine. She chuckles at your antics and then calls Byul over for her turn. Byul taps you on the shoulder, and you jump. She laughs at you, telling you to “get your butt out of the way”.  You hate that such a simple interaction flusters you. You tuck yourself into an unobtrusive ball on the couch across the makeup station and watch Byul get her makeup done.

The sight captivates you. She’s always beautiful, of course, but makeup transforms her into a different person. She draws strength from it, makes it some kind of armor. You love that it shows you a different aspect of her identity, that even though makeup doesn’t change who she is fundamentally, it still distinguishes Mamamoo’s Moonbyul from your Byul.

“It’s the concert, isn’t it?” she asks, eyes closed as the makeup artist applies color on her eyelids. She never could ignore you, no matter how much you tried. When she opens her eyes and sees your confused expression in the mirror, she clarifies, “A while ago. You looked nervous. You were thinking about the concert, weren't you?”

 _“No, I was thinking about you,”_ you want to say. You’ve always been an honest person, but ever since that night in your living room, that’s become increasingly difficult. Byul’s not completely wrong, though. You are nervous about the concert and now that she brought it up, your anxieties resurface.

Two weeks. What if you screw up? What if the fans aren’t satisfied? There’s still so much to do, so much to worry about. You _really_ can’t afford to get distracted now.

You tell Byul that she’s right. She grins at you, twirling her hand as if to wave your worries away. “You’ll be fine. Everyone loves you.”

You wonder if “everyone” still includes her.

And then you wonder why you think of that.

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly, you figure it out the following week.

Byul makes a habit of rehearsing for her solo stage until early morning. You worry for her, but you know that she’s overcoming one of her biggest insecurities so instead of berating her, you join her. You practice the high note that you used to always miss in “I Will Always Love You”, and you practice the choreography in “Sexy Back”.

Sometimes, you catch Byul staring.

 _That’s fair_ , you think because whenever Byul practices her dance solo, you can never take your eyes off of her. You wish her performance was longer, but you guess having to write her own lyrics and sing in front of 7000 people alone is stressing her out enough.

“Don't forget,” she sings, and you know that you could never.

“I only act pretty for you,” and god, you wish.

“We've been in love since since June,”  and _no, it’s definitely been much longer than that._

And then it finally makes sense.


	5. The Anvil Sinks Right Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yonsun didn't really figure it out too well

You’re half-convinced that being alone with her after your epiphany will make you develop an aneurysm. But self-preservation has never been your forte, so your late-night-turned-early-morning practices continue.

It’s 2:30 in the morning. You had stopped practicing around midnight, just waiting for Byul to finish up. Byul is bending over to her side, cooling down after a long session of practice. Her sweater hikes up, and you immediately turn away. There are mirrors everywhere so you settle with staring at your shoes instead.

“Unnie, is something wrong?” Byul asks. You peek at her to see her bending over, legs stretch taut and hands reaching for the floor in front of her.

_I’m in love with you._ “Nope.” You hug your knees and observe the wooden panels on the floor of the studio. Some parts need to be revarnished -- you’ll have to inform the staff tomorrow. _More like later_. You fiddle with your shoe laces. You wish the kids hadn’t gone home yet.

Byul finishes her cool down and crouches in front of you. You’re used to her invading your space, but these days, she’s always too close. You lean back a little.

“Then why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” You ask, pushing against the floor to create some distance between you.

“That.” Her fingers wrap firmly around your upper arms, forcing you to look at her. “Avoiding me. Keeping me away.” Byul keeps you locked in place, moving closer with every sentence. “If you have a problem with me that’s fine.” _Too close._ “But it’s beginning to affect our choreography.”

Your entire body stiffens up at her statement. You know you’ve been distracted, but there’s no way you’ve allowed yourself to slack off. No one gets to accuse you of that. _Not even her._

You shake her grip away. “I’m a professional.” She lets out a triumphant “Ha!” and you realize your mistake. “So you _do_ have a problem with me.” Her face is smug and expectant and you wonder how you fell in love with such a child.

You keep quiet because it’s better than another lie.

Byul sighs. “Fine, if you’re such a professional,” she stands up, dusting off her pants and extending a hand towards you, “then dance with me.”

She’s baiting you and you know that, but you take her hand anyway. Byul drags two chairs to the center of the room, and you realize what dance she was talking about.

Sometimes, you really wish you had more sense of self-preservation than pride.

The beginning notes of Words Don’t Come Easy drift from the speakers. As the two of you sit down on the chairs, you take a deep breath and pray for strength from every god that you can think of. You go through the initial portions of the choreography. Byul watches your reflection closely.

For all her grease, Byul is actually quite conservative, always covering herself and the members up, preferring a cool image over a sexy one. You know this kind of choreography has always been challenging for her, but tonight she’s different.

Gone is her characteristic swagger, instead replaced by quiet sensuality, her movements slow and controlled. Her eyes burn with a challenge: _look away and you lose_. You’ve always been competitive, but even if you weren’t, you don’t think you would have been able to look away.

You go through the choreography in a haze. You stand up and bend forward, she leans against you, forearms draped on your hips. Her touch is light, lingering on your back as she pulls away. You let out a shaky exhale as you sit back down. _One minute to brace yourself._

The minute passes quickly. You stand up and Byul sidles up beside you, so close you can feel her breath on your neck. Your mouth dries up at the proximity, and when she slides her hand up your thigh, you feel like you’re _burning_. She moves behind you, and your heart beats so loudly you can hardly hear the music. Her right hand lands on your waist while her other hand makes it way up to your chest. You’re hypnotized by her closeness, her touch. She pulls away and you turn around, both of you inching closer. You meet her gaze and time goes still.

You imagine this is how it feels like the moment before a rubber band snaps. Like you’re being pulled apart, and you know that resistance is futile but you insist on doing so anyway.

That’s what you’ve been doing all these years. Resisting. In the end, all it did was wear you down slowly, stretched you thin so gradually that you didn’t know how close you were to your breaking point until you reached it.

Neither of you move, not even to breathe. Byul’s eyes are unrecognizable, pupils so dilated her brown eyes have turned black. They flicker down to your mouth and she licks her lips, and that’s when you finally _break_.

You pull her down by the collar of her sweater and crash your lips against hers. You panic for the second it takes her to respond, but the moment her lips start moving against yours, every thought in your mind is replaced with an aching need for _more_. Your tug her closer, your teeth knock together and her nose bumps into yours but _god_ , you've never felt so alive. You lick at her lips, suppressing a moan when your tongues meet.

You press closer until she falls back on your chair. You straddle her thighs, chasing after her lips, wanting to press every inch of your bodies together. She pulls back to catch her breath but you’ve already wasted a year so you start trailing open mouthed kisses on her jaw. Pride swells within you when she whimpers your name, as well as an urge to coax more sounds out of her. You shift your attention to her neck, and her hands burrow into your hair. “W-we need to,” she gasps out as you suck on her pulsepoint, tugging on her sweater to gain access to more skin. You start peppering kisses on her collarbone, but she pushes against your shoulder to stop you from going further. “Stop, “ Byul manages, her chest heaving against yours. “We need to stop.”

Her words lift the spell that you were under. You lean back on your heels, breathing heavily as you detach your lips from her. She removes her hands from you and wraps them tightly around the armrests of the chair. Her breathing has slowed down a little but her ash-blonde hair is a mess and her lips are still swollen red.

When you were kissing Byul, you couldn’t think of anything else. Now that she’s stopped you, your mind is a mess.

She told you that she loved you a year ago. You don’t know if that’s still true. You kissed her, and she kissed you back but she stopped you, and you don’t know if it’s because you went too far or because _you’re too late_. You couldn’t even finish the song, and she’s going to hate you, and what if someone finds out, you’ll lose your career and you’ll lose your best friend, and _god, it was the best kiss of your life_ and _fuck, it was a huge fucking mistake._

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, standing up abruptly from your position on top of her. “I shouldn’t have-- I’m sorry.”

You feel sluggish as you exit the agency. You hear your name being called out but it sounds so far away. You feel like you’re underwater. Your mind feels too full, and all you can understand is that _you fucked up_ , and Moon Byulyi is no longer in love with you.


	6. Better Late Than Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tears were shed

You watch the ebbing river, ignoring the constant ringing from your phone.

The Jungnang river before dawn is beautiful, you suppose. Twinkling lights on the surface of the river. Pre-morning rush stillness. A pocket of tranquility in the hustle and bustle of Seoul. On another day, it would have taken your breath away, but today all it does is remind you of playing by the sea in Busan, of making wishes on firecrackers, and  _ “I love you, Unnie” _ . Its beauty reminds you of missed opportunities and taking things for granted, and  _ god _ , you want to scream. 

Because this isn’t rejection. You know what that feels like. 

Rejection was the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when the fortieth agency rejected you. It's the disappointment when the CEO scraps a portion of choreography you suggested. It’s your parents asking what you plan to do after “all this.” (After all, “this can’t last forever, Yongsun.”) It's the voice in your head saying you're not good enough. It’s crushing pain and feeling small and you know it too well. 

  
But this is different.  
  
This is regret replacing the blood in your veins. This is ice filling the hollows of your heart, chilling your blood and pressing down on  your lungs until you can no longer breathe. It’s _I love you_ and _if only_ drifting in the void of your mind, numbness settling deep in your bones as you stroll along the length the Jungnang river at half-past three in the morning. This is you knowing that you used Byul’s denial to fuel your own when you knew she was lying.  When you should have known better. This is waiting for a breakdown that just won’t come.   
  
So no, this isn’t rejection. But you wish it was.

 

You rub your palms together in an effort to warm yourself, cursing yourself for not having the presence of mind to grab your jacket before you left the agency.  Your teeth are chattering and you can barely feel your fingers, but you know you can’t go home yet. Not while you’re numb. Not while you still haven’t cried. 

You want nothing more than to collapse in your bed and cocoon yourself in your covers, but you know that if you do that before crying, you’ll never be able to muster the strength to leave your bed. With the concert less than a week away, you really can’t have that. So you wait.

When your phone rings again, you pick up. It takes two seconds of hearing Byul’s voice, frantic and deep with lack of sleep before you click “end”. Her contact photo, a picture of the two of you together, flashes on your screen right after and you turn your phone off.

You had hoped that she’d say she didn’t love you anymore. That you’d feel the aching pain that’s supposed to come with heartbreak. Hurt, because she didn’t wait for you. Angry, even. Maybe hearing her voice would have been what you needed to cry _,_ but you guess you’re just too weak. 

(A voice inside your head suggests that  _ maybe she was always what you needed. _ You do your best to ignore it. _ ) _

You give up on crying once the first rays of the sun peek over the horizon. You don’t have to be at the agency until eight, but the rational part of you knows that you should go back home before that. You should take a shower and try to get some sleep, cried out or not. Your chest feels heavy, but hey, at least your eyes won’t be swollen during practice.  

  
  


As you stand in the dimly lit hallway of the apartment building, the light that spills out from the gaps of the door fills you with dread.  _ Fuck, you really can’t deal with a thief right now.  _ You give the doorknob an experimental twist, and the door gives way easily. You push the door open little by little. Fear makes you clumsy and you almost trip over the step that elevates your living room. You stumble inside, and suddenly the thought of a break-in isn’t as unappealing. 

_ Of course, she waited for you. _

Byul is snoring softly on your couch, the bags you left at the agency cradled on her lap. 

The click of the door rouses her awake. There's a moment of grogginess before she sees you and then your things are tumbling off her lap and she's right in front of you.  She turns your head left and right, checking you over for injuries, bombarding you with questions:  _ Are you okay? Why weren’t you picking up? What the hell was up with that call? Are you injured? Where did you go? I couldn’t find you anywhere. Why did you leave? Please never do that again. _

As she fusses over you, you realize that in love or not, you’re never going to lose Byul. If you know her at all, and  _ you do, _ you know that she won’t let this come between you.  _ Hell, she was the one who started all of this in the first place. _

She’ll always spit fire on stage while you watch in awe. She’ll always pop up at your apartment at odd times and plop down on your bed as if she owns the place. She’ll always be the one who knows when you’re not okay, the one who worries and waits for you. She'll always be sweaty and greasy and sweet, and you’ll always be her best friend.

And you’ll always be in love with her.

When Byul finishes her physical injury assessment of you, she wraps you in a bone-crushing hug. Suddenly, the hollowness in your chest gives way to pain and the tears that were reluctant to come earlier are unstoppable. She leads you to the couch, hysterical and sobbing mess that you’ve become. You get snot on her sweater, and  _ god _ , this was not how you imagined today would turn out-- sobbing in your living room at dawn, being held together by the same person who broke your heart. 

Byul hugs you even tighter. She nuzzles her head against the side of yours and  _ this is enough,  _ you think. If this is all you can have, then you’ll take it. You’ll apologize for last night and explain, because you’re so,  _ so _ tired of pretending. But this is enough.

You’re sure if you think it enough times it’ll eventually come true.

 

When the tears stop flowing, you pull away from the embrace, your hiccups disrupting the silence in the air. Despite the sniffling, you feel uncharacteristically calm. Your voice comes out gravelly at first, and you have to clear your throat several times before you speak again.

“I’m sorry.”

Her hands reach up to wipe away the tear stains on your cheeks, uttering words of absolution before she even knows what you’re apologizing for. Her touch is tender. If you close your eyes you could pretend it was out of love.  _ But it’s not _ , so you shake your head and pry her hands away gently. “No, Byul, please. I need to say this. ” She looks reluctant, but she swallows her protests with a nod. Byul lets your hands stay together.

“I’m sorry I kissed you,”  hurt flashes on her face and she flinches back, but you hold on to her, rushing to clarify your intent, “Not because I didn’t want to kiss you, god, no. That was, like, the best thing that has ever happened to me, so no, I’m not sorry for that.” She’s blushing and judging by the warmth in your face, so are you. The urge to look anywhere but at her is strong, but you’re nothing if not determined.

“I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable. And for running away.” You tell her where you were and you apologize for making her worry.  You thank her for worrying despite what you did. Your hands are clammy in hers, but Byul squeezes your hands and gives a small smile, and already it feels like forgiveness. It makes saying the next words less difficult. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t realize sooner,” Your heart thuds uncontrollably against your ribs. Byul looks at you with confusion and you force out the words that started it all.

“Byul, I love you.”

It hurts, but finally,  _ finally _ , you’re being honest with yourself.

“Ever since we were trainees, I’ve been in love with you. And if I had realized sooner,”  your throat closes in on itself and cuts you off. You have to take a deep breath before you can continue. “If I had realized sooner, we would have been in love with each other.”

Byul’s eyes are wide and glassy. She doesn’t make any attempt to deny that she  _ was  _ in love with you, and if this entire thing  didn’t hurt so much you would have been relieved.  

“I know you said you didn’t mean it, but I know you, Byul. But I used that, I kept denying, and denying and finding excuses, when all this time I should have realized that I could deny my own name but I could never deny you.” 

Your gaze fall to your intertwined hands. “And now it’s too late. ” Your grip on her hand tightens, some final desperate plea that maybe,  _ just maybe, _ you were wrong.

You wait for Byul to do something. Say she need some time, or deny it all, or just up and leave. Instead she breathes a deep sigh and runs her hands through her hair.

Your mind goes into overdrive the moment she lets go of your hands.   _ Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You fucked up too badly she wouldn’t understand after all fuck you’re going to lose her fuck fuck fuck _

Byul leans back on the couch and looks up at the ceiling.“I’m sorry, too. For lying. You knew, anyway.” 

Confusion replaces your panic.  _ Wait, so she never loved you?  _

Byul turns to you and reaches to tuck your bangs behind your left ear. You cherish the fact that she’s still here, your eyes fluttering shut at the contact. The heavy silence is broken by her low voice. “I  _ was _ drunk that night, but I meant what I said.” She strokes the side of your face, gently coaxing you to open your eyes. When you do, Byul is sitting much closer.  There are tears rolling down her cheeks, but her eyes are sparkling and  she is smiling. 

”I still mean it.”

 

(Later that morning, before you head to the company together, after she kisses you long and slow, she gives you a peck and a cheeky grin.

“So kissing me was the best thing that has ever happened to you, huh?”

You swat at her and push her off your bed. She lands on her ass, one foot in the air and the other tangled in your sheets. A moment passes and then the both of you are laughing uncontrollably. As you watch her giggling on your bedroom floor, you realize that you didn’t really get it right earlier – kissing Byul is  _ not  _ the best thing that has ever happened to you. 

Byul is.)


End file.
